Between the Lines
by coulsonbaby
Summary: "I had heard somewhere that no one truly dies until their name is said by the person closest to them. And I would do whatever was in my power to keep him alive. If I never said his name, he could never die." After Sherlock Holmes dies, John Watson struggles to survive a normal, average life. That is until he discovers a vital secret about Londons biggest crime ring.
1. Prologue

"Goodbye, John."

"SHERLOCK!"

2012: Monday, June 11

01:09

I awoke with a start, my palms sweaty and the covers damp. Dammit. I could hear the commotion in the next room over, likely Harry. I must have been screaming again. With a sigh, I sat up in my bed and looked around the sparse room. This was temporary- living in my sisters flat just felt strange and unnatural. She wasn't a bad flatmate, but we still weren't on the best terms and despite how hard she tried, she wasn't…

I shook my head to clear it. Thinking those thoughts, it was self-destructive. He was gone. Moriarty was an actor. It was all fake, a scheme, a game for a bored child in the body of a man.

That's what everyone said.

That's what he had said.

There were footsteps on the floorboards out in the hall, and a moment later the door creaked slowly open. "John?" came Harry's soft voice, "Are you okay?"

A forced smile on my face, I looked up at her. "Yeah," I said, "I fine. Just had a bad dream, that's all."

"John…" I could hear an ache in her voice, telling me she wanted to say something more. She probably wanted to talk- I had been having the same nightmare for the past two weeks, ever since-

"John." Harry took a cautious step into my room, making her way over to my bed and sitting on the edge of it. Her hand felt foreign and unwelcome as she placed it in an attempt to be comforting on my back. "John, I think you should start seeing your therapist again. You have been having these dreams since… Since he died, John. You need to see someone."

I sat still and let her talk. This wasn't the first time she suggested it, and she wasn't the first to. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. Molly. Sarah. Dammit, even Mycroft had said something along the lines of it. iMycroft/i.

And deep down, I knew they were all right. I couldn't keep going on like this. It was unhealthy, and I was only hurting myself and the people around me in the process. But I couldn't bring myself to go to my therapist again. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard anyone tried… They would never be able to understand what I was going through- because none of them understood Sherlock Holmes. I was the only one who truly knew him in his whole life. And I think that there were only five people on the planet who actually missed him. But that didn't matter, because he was gone. Nothing mattered anymore- Sherlock Holmes had brought out the person I wished I was. And now he was gone. He wanted so much to be more, more than ordinary. But in the end, his name simply blew away in the wind like any other, forgotten, unsullied, and only to come to rest on a black headstone. I couldn't even say his name allowed. I didn't want to. I had heard somewhere that no one truly dies until their name is said by the person closest to them.

And I would do whatever was in my power to keep him alive. If I never said his name, he could never die.

"Harriet…" I said softly, not looking at her, "Will this ever end?"

I could feel her body stiffen slightly, probably surprised by my use of her first name as opposed to her nickname. She knew something was bothering me when I called her Harriet. She knew I was seriously pondering something, or had a difficult decision to make.

"It's just that… nothing feels right. Me being here. I don't exist without ihim/i. John Watson isn't here anymore. I don't understand why he left me behind.

Why…"

"John," she said sternly, drawing my eyes to hers and staring into them fiercely, "Shut-up."

I remained silent and sully as she stared determinedly at me. "Don't do anything stupid or I fucking swear-"

I cut her off with my best attempt at a smile. "Go back to bed, Harry. I'll make that appointment, if it would make you feel better." She looked shocked that I had complied, but smiled and silently returned to her room. I let out a deep sigh of relief as I heard her bedroom door close down the hall. I knew I was a burden to her, but she was handling it better than I thought she would. She was a good sister, despite our differences.

I stood slowly, my right leg giving a bit as I limped over to the small window and opened it, breathing in the fresh nighttime air. My limp had returned after he fell. I wondered what my therapist would have to say about that when I went to that damned appointment I had just committed to. But that didn't really matter, it didn't really change anything. I rested my back against the wall and sank to the ground, sitting beneath the stream of cool air flowing into my room. I always had preferred the outdoors to cramped claustrophobic spaces.

As I sat silently on the cold floor, I could feel my eye's watering slightly. I hadn't cried since the fall. Not once. I woke up sometimes with damp cheeks, and then there was that day two weeks ago. The doctors had said that I had some traces of some sort of drug in my system. They were very confused, but it had explained my disorientation. But I had never truly cried, never really broken down. I blinked once, and it was as if that slight drop of water in my eye had never existed.

I felt bad. Sherlock Holmes deserved more.

Across the room, on my virtually empty desk, my phone lit up with a single beep and drew me out of my thoughts. I dragged myself over to it and check to see that the message was from an unknown number. I read it slowly, confused.

"Let's have dinner," it read. I sighed and dropped the phone onto my bed. Must've been a wrong number. I stretched and looked towards my window, detecting the faint scent… of cigarette smoke? At this hour?

I stumbled over to the window, tripping once and falling down- I still wasn't fully used to minding my leg- before I made my way to it and looked curiously out. The street was oddly devoid of all human life- the only evidence that anyone might have been there was the fading red glow of a half-smoked cigarette resting in the middle of the sidewalk beneath my window.

I shook my head and slowly shut the window, returning to my bed in hopes of getting an hour or two of sleep before work in the morning- it was hard enough well rested.

Little did I know how much had been set into motion that calm, lonesome summer night.


	2. Chapter One

2012: Monday, June 11

15:28

"Good Afternoon! Ella Thompson's office, this is Charlene, how may I help you?"

"Hi, um, yes." I coughed awkwardly into the receiver and gave a sideways glance to Harry, who was standing next to me with her arms crossed over her chest. "Yes, good afternoon. This is John Watson, and I uh-"

"John! It's been a while- would you like to set up an appointment?" I vaguely remembered Emma's secretary, but for the fact she was a pretty young blonde who was much too happy for her own good. It looked like things hadn't changed a bit in the 18 months since I had last talked with her.

"Yes, well, that is why I am calling. I'd like an appointment with Dr. Thompson."

"It's a good thing we still have all your paperwork filed. Isn't that lucky? Let me see… We have a 12:30 on Thursday. How does that sound?"

"Thank-you, Charlene, that sounds fine. That's fine. Well, I guess I'll see you then?" I wasn't exactly looking forward to the appointment, and only wanted to hang-up the phone and stop thinking about it.

"Actually," Charlene said through the line, "today's my last day. There will be someone new when you come in."

"Yes, well, that's fine. That's fine. Good day, then."

"Good day, John!"

I hung up the phone with a sigh and slipped it back into my pocket, looking pointedly at Harry. "See? I did it."

Harry snickered and flipped some of her cropped hair out of her face. "Now all you have to do is show up."

I grimaced and stood up, leaning on my cane and looking her in the eye. "I am a grown man, Harry, I don't need you watching over me."

"Obviously you do," she said, grinning. "Would you have made that phone call if I hadn't been?"

Not dignifying her with response, I made my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge, half expecting to find a severed head, or maybe a bag of small intestines. I was instead met with a half gallon of milk, a full carton of eggs, and various assorted items that usually belonged in a fridge. I shut the door without getting anything, my appetite suddenly gone. I glanced over and saw Harry pretending not to be watching me from the sitting room. I knew she was worried about me, as I had hardly eaten in the past two weeks- but every time I thought about food, I ceased to be hungry. Not wanting her to worry too much though, I made toast and grabbed a jar of jam, layering the strawberry flavoured jelly thinly across the bread. I walked back to my room, making a point of eating it.

Back in the confines of my bland room, I melted into the chair at my desk, dropping the half-eaten slice of toast in the garbage bin. I drummed my fingers on the solid wooden desk and looked cautiously at my laptop, not sure if I wanted to open it to hundreds of e-mails and blog comments. I wasn't sure if I was ready to expose myself to that. I hadn't opened that laptop once since the fall.

I shook my head and laughed at myself. Look at me, John Watson, medical doctor and Afghan veteran, afraid of pixels.

How pathetic.

Regardless, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew I wasn't ready, and I wasn't going to push it. Besides- I had an appointment with my therapist later that week. Wouldn't want to have itoo/i much to talk about with her.

Look at me, John Watson, medical doctor and Afghan veteran, afraid of myself.

How cliché.

2012: Thursday, June 14

12:04

My last patient had taken a bit longer than expected that day, and as I looked at the digital cock on the wall, I prayed I wouldn't be late for my appointment.

"Tell Sarah," I said to the secretary, "that I should be back within two hours, okay?"

With that, I hobbled out of the office into the readily awaiting cab. At least I had thought ahead and called one. Luckily, Dr. Thompsons office was only 20 minutes away, so if traffic was in my favour…

And apparently it was. In just 18 minutes, I found myself outside the office building, standing in the rain as I paid the cabbie. He was off and, just like that, I was walking into the reception area, wringing the water out of my jumper.

I had been a while since I had been there. The shining wooden floorboards and worn polyester sofas seemed so foreign and unfamiliar. I flashed back to the weekly appointments I had had over a year and a half ago, and was surprised by the fact that nothing had really changed. The old oil painting of an ocean was still hanging above the reception desk. The magazine table was still covered with the same prescriptions, if more recent issues. The faint scent of pine oil still clung faintly to the air, giving the atmosphere a cozy, homely, feel. The only thing that was different this time around was… me.

I walked up to the reception desk and leant my weight on my cane. The new secretary was looking down at her computer screen, her reddish brown curls covering her face. She obviously had not noticed I was there, so I cleared my throat loudly. "Hello," I said, as she turned, "my name is-" the secretary's face lit up when she saw me. The freckles that spotted her cheeks crinkled as she smiled, a smile that went straight to her deep hazel eyes. Something seemed oddly familiar about her, I just couldn't quite place my finger on it.

"John!" she said, gleefully, "John Watson! What a coincedence- I had told myself it wasn't you but here you are, right in front of me!" Her high, sweet voice was what finally did it for me. I now knew iexactly/i why she looked so familiar.

She had been my fiancé, 8 years ago.

"Oh my god…" I whispered under my breath as she smiled at me, "Elizabeth? Elizabeth Marie LaForesso?"

She laughed again and stood up, coming around from behind the desk to give me a hug. I just stood there stunned. I had never expected to see her again, and there we were, "It's so good to see you after all these years, John. Last I heard you were off fighting a war. But that must have been a while ago, huh?"

"Yeah," I said shakily, "It's been… God, almost eight years since we have seen each other."

She paused to think for a minute. "Yes, I suppose it has…" She quickly made her way back around the desk and looked back down at her computer. "I'd love to talk with you, John, but not right now. Coffee, sometime?"

I nodded my head stiffly, and leaned more heavily on my cane. "Yes, coffee. That sounds nice. I'd like that." I wasn't sure if I meant what I was saying- our break-up had been an uncomfortable one. I had never been good, though, at turning people down. It always made me feel bad, like maybe I could have bettered these people's lives in some way, but I missed my chance.

But then again, it was me.

"Here," Elizabeth said, drawing me out of my thoughts and handing me one of Dr. Thompsons business cards with some pen scrawled on the back. "That's my number. Text me sometime, if you want to meet up. I'm free Saturday."

"Sounds good." I plastered a smile on my face as Dr. Thompson stepped out of her office.

"John?"

I nodded goodbye to Elizabeth and shoved the card into my pocket. Avoiding my therapists gaze, I supported myself on my cane as I walked into her office. I knew what she was thinking. I'd rather she didn't.

Comfortably sitting in a chair across from her, I forced a smile. "Good afternoon, Ella. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes," she said curtly, raising an eyebrow, "I'd say about 18 months. How have you been?" I could hear the questions and underlying meanings beneath her words, but chose to ignore them. If she wanted to get something out of me, she would have to ask straightforwardly. I had always hated hidden meanings in things.

"I've been good. I seem to have misplaced my favourite striped jumper, though."

"Ah," she said, making note of something in her pad. "What a pity." It seemed to be, 'avoiding questions.' i'Heh,'/i I thought to myself, i'I can't exactly avoid a question you haven't asked, now can I?'/i

"Let's see," I rubbed my chin, "apparently, I am having coffee with my ex-fiancé on Saturday. That's quite a turn-up. I didn't expect to show up for my appointment and find Elizabeth, of all people, as your new secretary." I saw Dr. Thompsons pupils dilate, and smiled inwardly to myself. My goal at this point was to talk as little about certain things as possible. Of course, the conversation was going to be inevitable. Harry would make me keep coming back until at least some things got better- her motherly trait always managed to piss me off in some form or another- so stalling really was futile. Then again, I was often described as stubborn.

"Is that so? I didn't know- I mean, uh." It took a minute for her to get situated. I was satisfied that, even just for a second, I was able to pull Dr. Thompson out of her professional indifference. It was a game, one I was intent on winning. And right now I was in the lead. "So," she continued, now fully composed, "are you excited about this meeting."

"I wouldn't say I was upset." She wrote something else in her notepad, but I couldn't make it out that time around.

"Well, I hope you enjoy yourself," she said, "you'll have to tell me how it goes."

"Of course! I'd be much obliged." I smiled sarcastically at her, knowing I was only making her write more fervently in that annoying pad of hers. I was only hurting myself, but I was having so much fun doing it.

Thompsons smile stayed professional as she swept a few loose strands of hair from her face. "So, how's the leg?"

I grimaced, and reflexively tightened my left hand into a fist. "Not so good," I said, trying to fabricate the good humour I had had before, "it started bothering me again a couple weeks ago, around the same time I lost my jumper." iGood job, John. Bring the conversation back around to something irrelevant./i

The irritating therapist, however, had yet to fall for my feebly attempts at avoiding the inevitable discussion. "Yes," she said, "it really is a pity about the jumper. But what happened? Why did your limp come back?"

That stupid, annoying, egotistical smile was plastered on her face. Oh, she was so proud of herself. I could see where this conversation was going. Circles.

"Ella…" I suggested, slowly, "Let's talk about something else."

Her eye's widened in surprise. I cursed myself, as I had apparently let some sort of emotion seep through my disguise. What was it that Irene Addler had said? A disguise is always a self-portrait? Regardless, it was hardly relevant. Irene Addler was dead, Moriarty was de-

A low cough from the woman across from me drew my gaze. "Yes, well, what would you like to talk about, John?"

I drummed the fingers of my right hand against the armrest as my left fist clenched and unclenched. Honestly, I didn't want to talk about anything- not with her, not with anyone. I had always been a rather quiet man, but recently talking just seemed a burden.

The room lapsed into silence as Dr. Thompson stared expectantly at me. After about a minute, she sighed dramatically and flipped a page in her notebook, readying her pen on the paper. "Fine," she said, the aggravation evident in her voice, "where are you staying now?"

"With my sister." My answer came immediately, due to the reflex of answering the same question so many times in the past two weeks. Thompson seemed fairly surprised by this, as was expected. She knew of my relationship with Harry.

"Harriet?" She asked, writing something down. "You moved into Harriet's flat? How has that been?"

I sighed- she had always insisted on calling Harry Harriet. Damn conservatives. I figured, though, since I was paying for this hour, I might as well talk. It seemed harmless enough. "Yes, fine. It's been fine. She's great. She's the one who persuaded me to come today."

"What a surprise! I'm glad you two are getting on well." I paused for a second and stared at her. I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, but despite that fabricated tone, the professional demeanor, and the unnaturally happy smile… Something seemed genuine. Right there in her eyes and at the corner of her lips, tucked away between the crinkles in her chin and her jawline, I saw the hint of sincerity.

"Yes…" I stared out the window, inspecting the sky. It was so grey- an average. A normal, rainy, dull, day in London. The kind of day I never gave a second thought to before, the kind that would sometimes put him on edge.

And the slight patter of rain on the glass? Yeah, that put me on edge too. "Yes, I suppose it is a good thing, isn't it?"


End file.
